Inside my head
by Austria1996
Summary: Sherlock is not alone. Sherlock has friends. They live inside his head. /First attempt at writing Sherlock fanfiction. Angsty, I guess. Rated T because of suggestions of mental illness and a bit of Johnlock, and because I'm paranoid. Un-beta'd, please tell me if you find any mistakes, thank you.


Sherlock is brilliant, they say. So smart. He can guess you've been to the cake shop and eaten a donut just because of a little piece of frosting on your collar. Pity he's so... _Peculiar._

Sherlock sits on a couch in the middle of his room. Just sits. All day long. No books (dangerous), no TV (dangeous), no visitors (who'd like to visit him anyway?), except for his Mummy and the doctors. His brain would have died because of boredom a long, long time ago. Luckily, he has his ways to entertain himself.

Sherlock is not alone. He's got plenty of friends. For example, Mrs Hudson - a charming old lady, who makes him wash and brush his teeth and comb his hair and do all the stupid things his mother requires him to do. Thanks to Mrs Hudson and her nagging, Sherlock does it all by himself, so he doesn't need help - although there's always somebody watching him, because the razors are sharp and you can drown even in a bathtub.

There's also his older brother. Sherlock called him Mycroft, because Mummy always liked weird names. Mycroft is also very helpful when it comes to everyday activities. Mycroft forces him to eat. Sherlock hates eating and he'd vomit after every meal if he only could. When given food, Sherlock shakes head with disgust and says _no, no, Mycroft, it's disgusting and I won't eat it, no _and then Mycroft says in his calm voice _Sherlock, you have to eat it or we'll have to force-feed you_, and then Sherlock is silent for a while, and then he starts eating, because he'd hate to be forced to eat. Eating is disgusting. Forcing anybody to do anything is disgusting. So double disgusting or Mycroft. He chooses Mycroft.

Sometimes he just feels like doing bad things. Like pouring Mummy's favorite parfume all around the bathroom until all the bottles are empty. Or he rips his pillows and throws the stuffing all around the room, and then rolls on the floor until he's all covered in feathers. That's when Jim shows up. Jim's mischievous and roguish, and he loves pranks. He's also a good actor. They've had lots of fun toghether, although Sherlock knows Mummy doesn't like Jim and so he tries to call him only when nobody's around.

When he's sad and alone, he calls in Molly. Molly is nice and shy, and she loves cuddling. Sherlock lets her cuddle him from time to time, and Molly is more than happy when she can do this. And when Sherlock calms down, she sits on the edge of the couch and tells him stories _about crimes and love and running away_ and he can fall asleep.

But if he's not sad but bored, he asks Irene to come. She's always a mystery, sometimes she shows up and sometimes not. Sometimes she just sits next to him and let him talk to her, sometimes they chat for hours. She tells him stories about all the places she's ever been to, and he's jealous, because he only has his room. She tells him about true love, and he closes his eyes and thinks about his other friend...

John. Seemingly plain and boring, wearing a little bit oversized sweater, _oatmeal sweater, because oatmeal is nice_. He's an ex-soldier and a doctor and he's a great shooter and he loves tea and he always eats toasts with jam and he wears sweaters and Sherlock likes him _and all sorts of things._ He's always there when Sherlock needs him, he holds Sherlock's hand when he's forced to eat or he's having a medical examination or anytime Sherlock needs it.

Molly once told him it's called love.

_If I knew what love is, _Sherlock once told John, _I think I would say I love you. _John smiled and said, _I love you too._ And then he stayed by Sherlock's side for the whole night and he cuddled him, just like Molly does, but more clumsily. It felt... Right.

_Take your medicine, _John says. Sherlock frowns. He hates his medicines, and John knows that very well.

_I don't..._, he starts, but is interrupted by Mycroft's _Just take the pill, Sherly. It's for your own good._

Sherlock's still unsure. He looks at John, searching for comfort in his beloved's eyes.

_Sherlock, your brother's absolutely right,_ John says. _Please, take the medicine. For me._

And Sherlock closes his eyes and lets the doctors inject things into his veins and he swallows the pills and he waits as the things slowly blur, like they always do.

And then there's darkness and peace and something deep inside him just screams, _John, John, where are you, John, I need you, come back, come back!_

But on the outside, he's calm and he's silent and he's staring at the wall like every good _freak _does.

_John, _he once asked, _are you real? Please tell me you're real, please tell me I'm not..._

_I'm real, _John says with a smile, _I'm as real as you are, Sherlock. Now please take your medicine._

Sherlock's not alone. He's got plenty of friends. They live inside his head. That way they'll never leave him.


End file.
